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Poem: Experience Climbs On Top Understanding
A special edition. Out Now!
1 — Introducing poem video performances: Please leave some likes and subscribe buttons.
2 — Excerpt from my ongoing poetic-fictional book
The day you finally go out to a classy restaurant, you meet your long-time friend having sisters time, with a mocktail and a lemon sip. Teni, as she’s popularly called, is not new in town; she’s older, which makes her older—Knowing more than youths. Your friend needed to use the restroom, and you weren’t a bastard not to be a fantastic talker with a stranger.
You find yourself sited on a cartoonish snail shell, alone in the middle of a long infinite river, but the width is crossable. You became a silent philosopher, counting numbers, eyes closed. Joyous news, single jingles of bells flowing from inside your mouth down to the stomach. Quiet words settled as you were calm and collected. Greatness is not a formality; it is a matter of the mind. The barometer measuring in the lab of self-esteem. A market is always at the next level, and levels attract groups…
I hope you are having a great week; please relax and experience Poetry in a unique and positive dimension. This week is a special edition. I invite you to write four lines of a poem. More info is underneath.
“Experience climbs on top understanding” is a work of art from nights and passion for bringing you a comprehensive delight. A first-time experience is thought to recreate, and this poem proves this precisely, so please read it gently.
Enough for the entire week, but please finish it early as there’s too-much laughter at the ending parts.
Verse 1 Every single thing makes a unique sound. Slap your arm, slap your cheek — Do they sound the same? The tale of love is like three butterflies hovering around a fire lamp. The three were thrown out from a hot air-blowing standing fan into absolute absence. So we, burning of love, fire desire turns into smoke. Soul singing itself up to meet its saviour. Smoke choking everybody in the room. Then, I yawned out of bed to open the waste bin. Throwing a fire lamp into this robotic bin in the year 2076. Never again will I allow me to be heartbroken. Grief so thick in the goat's throat. Greatest of all time, they called me. Greatest of all shawarma I became. But at least I also enjoyed that eating. And in the continuous welcoming breath of the morning sun. When the universe was about to open wide, Like the thumb and second finger who met just now, and departed. But do you understand? There are three types of people. Sane people. Those who are insane. And people beyond insanity. Having an experience is beyond insanity.
Verse 2 Sieved away, Sieved out. Chaff from corn. Left and right, the basket of net shivering. Shivering until the day's dawn reversed back into death. Actually, not death, but into life. On the road in that lonely moment of closed eyes. Words began to turn into mouths. Mouths like a Kardashian. When you close your eyes, can you see Kim? Can you see the lovely side of the black dress on a red carpet? Howbeit, The journey of sleep must keep sailing like Dwayne Johnson on a boat. We must continue to stern straight into the sun's heart. Morning darkness passes through the water bridge into the light. What sort of machine cuts the forest? Roofing, biking, and on the owner's grip— bombing down trees. The boat through the bride is sailing. We are almost there. Birds, doves, trees, snakes and vultures were all together. Poor rabbit in their midst. Yet, the thirsty tiger is hoping thunder will strike. The boat through the bride is sailing. We are almost there. Imagine you were a spoon gnashing someone's teeth. You can carry a load heavier than you. That strong meat requires delight to the stylish breakfast. A packet dense full of wisdom. Iron spoon — a medium.
Verse 3 How can I live one thousand years of life in an eighty? The meaning of this glimpse still gets me thinking, what is this place of the world? For sure, it doesn't look like hell or heaven. I'm alive when I sleep? But where do I go to that I'm conscious? The fancy flowers between the boy's lap have a fancy floor on the hairy grounds. You are not like others who get scared of what's in front of them. You are the dry stick that thorns the wild roses. The door-wrenching brass of war. A flower whose main activity is to breathe and photosynthesize. Destroyer. Stop banging on the door, destroyer. Stop wishing me good night, and then come back the destroyer. Stop punching me in the face, And later touched me with a hand of milk cream. When the sharks swim, which stars look after them? When a grey amber whale, its mother calls for them. Fish probably eat fish. On the way, some of them are already on their way out, yet want to be president. To preside over a whole country at a wrinkling age. EndSarsNow! Go get your PVC.
Activity and rewards for this week
You’re encouraged to write a four-lines of poems as a comment underneath this post. It may seem difficult but it’s easy. We will be going through each and giving them a like.
This poem comes with a 30 US Dollars reward in a Gift card or Crypto for a single winner. Selection is transparent and fair.
How to win
Write four lines of a poem as a comment underneath this post.
The highest number of liked comments selects the winner as of the following Wednesday at noon UK time. In a duel, a single person is picked at random.
The winner will be contacted using their registered email address by Friday.
You can get a link directly to your comment
—Open google chrome —Highlight the name on your comment
— Click copy link to highlight —You have a personal URL to share.